DINOSAUR BONES by David Lemmaire

A gay adult story: DINOSAUR BONES by David Lemmaire
The expedition was going exactly as we planned. A hundred miles into the

woods — (okay, a quarter of a mile from my house…use your imagination)

— we set up base camp. It was still a good hour before dark, so Jory

started rummaging through his supply pack for the tools.

It wasn’t our first dig. We were professionals. But this time, we were

going for the big bones.

He took out a long leather case from his pack, unrolled it and spread it

on the ground outside of the tent.

Neither one of us cared that the leather case was really one of my mom’s

dish towels — the gross green one with the dancing cats — and the

digging tools were a few various spoons from her silverware drawer. When

you’ve got the museum back in London crawling up your ass for a major

archeological discovery, you don’t have time to let the kitchen sneak in.

My name’s Kane. I’m 12. Jory is Jory. He’s 12, too. We live in Rhode

Island, so if you’re trying to find us on your map, lean in close and keep

your glasses on.

We live in the same town, go to the same school, do the same things, like

the same people. It’s a pretty easy life. No complaints.

My name is really spelled “Kayne,” but I took the “Y” out two years ago

because it looked dumb. My mom still shits her pants about it and yells

at me to put it back in. No way. It’s gone. With the “Y” in there,

people kept calling me “Kay-nee.” Even teachers. How they mess that one

up, I’ll never know. Dyslexia, I guess.

Jory’s real name is “Jordan.” He doesn’t like it. “Much too basketball,”

he told me. We both agree that sports basically suck. You sweat too

much, your legs hurt, and you have to wear a jock. Not exactly a picnic.

So, even though he’s a Jordan, he leaves the “D” out. If a kid’s name is

Jordan, you’d pretty-much expect people to call him “Jordy.” But he hates

that. I guess he got the hots over my missing “Y,” so he took out his “D”

to keep up. Competition is fierce with nickname letters.

The reason we started hanging out together is…we both have stupid names.

I mean, face it. When you’re walking around with a Kayne and you bump

into a Jordan, you’re pretty-much destined to be a match. It’s like, one

step up from being a Floyd and a Walter. You run for cover and hope nobody

notices.

“Any sign of limestone deposits?” Jory asked. He squinted into the

setting sun and scanned the terrain with a fake telescope.

“Down a little farther,” I pointed. “They should be right over there, if

the map is right.”

I unfolded the map from my pack and laid it out in front of me, just to

make sure. Yep. It looked promising. (Okay, so it was really a Warwick

city map I ripped out of the downstairs phone book, but let’s not get

technical.)

“Better get going,” he said, wrapping up the tools. “Sun’s going down.”

Spoons clinked. Dancing cats disappeared face down, thank God.

We hiked up the path away from our base camp. We’d been at this dig site

before, with no major results. A few pterodactyl skulls. A frozen

Neanderthal. The usual.

“The problem with dinosaur bones,” Jory began in his English

archeologist’s accent (which truly sucked), “is the depth in which they

lay.”

“Here, here, Old Chap,” I replied quickly. (That was my best line.)

“If we’re lucky to find a wall of limestone, Dear Boy, we should be able

to dig from the bottom up…and we’ll stand a much better chance of going

home wealthy.”

I giggled. Wealthy. I swear, he kills me.

“How much is the museum offering, Professor?” I asked as we hiked.

“Millions, Dear Boy. Pounds and pounds and pounds.”

I wasn’t quite sure what a pound was, but what the hell, it sounded

accurate.

We found our limestone — (really just a hill of dirt) — and unrolled the

spoons and started to work. I reached into the backpack and pulled out my

mom’s mascara thingy to brush away the dust. It wasn’t the first one

she’d lost for the glory of England.

“Nothing,” he announced after 45 minutes of various digging, and moving,

and digging again. Flipping out the map, I joined him in frustration. The

sun was setting more quickly now. The remains of daylight were just

starting to crawl under the horizon.

“Tomorrow, Old Chap,” I told him cheerfully. “We’ll find those bones in

the morning. We’re close. I can feel it.”

He sighed and rolled up the tools. I shared his disappointment. When all

of London is counting on your next discovery, you sort of hate to fuck up

and go to bed. Archeology can be stressful like that.

“Tomorrow,” he echoed. Then looking up at the dimming sky, he added,

“We’d better head back for camp.”

We hiked back down the path and back to our tent. In the movies, they’re

usually brown and made out of canvas. Ours was red and made out of

K-Mart.

We sat outside for a while, watching the last of the sun disappear. Then

the woods were dark and quiet. We didn’t light a campfire — our moms

would shit if they saw smoke coming up from the woods — they’d probably

come running up in their nightgowns with fire extinguishers screaming

their heads off.

No. We just sat together and enjoyed the darkness.

Jory reached over and held my hand. I squeezed back and he smiled.

This part wasn’t new either.

I leaned over closer and laid my head on his shoulder. He stroked my hair

as we sat there outside of our tent, peaceful and happy, listening to the

crickets chirp and enjoying the warmth of our body heat. It was a nice

night — not too cold — just the slightest breeze in the air, making it

feel even more comfortable to be sitting so close to him like that.

We were very private about our closeness, so we didn’t talk. We weren’t

ashamed of it or anything. It just didn’t need words, that’s all.

I felt him kiss the top of my head, so I closed my eyes and smiled. With

one hand, I reached up and stroked his face. Cool, smooth skin danced

across my fingertips. I could hear him breathing. It was a peaceful,

relaxing sound. It filled me with happiness.

“Let’s go in,” he smiled. “I’m ready for bed.”

I grinned at him and unzipped the tent flap. We crawled inside and rolled

out our sleeping bags. We opened them up all the way — put one on the

ground for a mattress and the other on top for a blanket. We’d gone way

past the separate sleeping bag stage ten months ago, last summer. That’s

when we first started doing stuff. Now we just slept together…laid down

next to each other and turned our sleeping bags into a bed for two.

I felt myself melt into his arms like I always did. We kissed quietly,

stroking each others’ hair…running our hands across each others’ faces.

I liked this part a lot. It was nice. I felt safe there.

He traced his finger across my lip and smiled at me as I kissed it gently.

I took it into my mouth and sucked lightly. I bit it and he laughed.

We helped each other take our clothes off — there was no hurry — no

shyness. Just a nice, relaxed stretching as our shoes and socks came

off…then our jeans…then our shirts…then our underwear. He was

wearing white briefs like he always did. In the moonlight through the

tent, they almost glowed.

Our eyes were adjusted to the dark, so we watched each other attentively,

enjoying the slow stripping. His smooth chest glowed in dark purple…blue

moonlight shining through the red fabric of the tent. I leaned forward

and kissed his neck. He was so warm and soft and beautiful.

He laid back down and let me kiss him. I liked to do all the work first,

while he laid there and sighed. I like the noises he made when I kissed

his body. They were soft. Excited. Urgent and free.

His hands stroked my back as I kissed my way down his chest. They felt so

warm and strong. He was so nice to me during the times we did this. So

soft. Never hurried or gross or embarrassed.

He let me take my time, kissing his soft stomach, giving it little licks

and tastes as I moved my way downward toward his dick.

We were both very hard already — that part never took us long at all —

so, stopping briefly to lick the base of his dick, just below his stomach

— I moved down quickly and took him fully into my mouth.

I felt his body tense as he laid back and sighed, enjoying the sensation,

eager for more.

I sucked him slowly — making up and down motions, circling his head with

my tongue, enjoying the flavor…swallowing my own salty, sweaty spit as I

went down on him, deeper and deeper. He was close. I could tell.

Pulling my head up, not wanting it to end too soon, he sat up from the

sleeping bag and leaned over my lap.

He wrapped his lips around my dick and cupped by balls in his hand. I

moaned gently as he moved his mouth up and down on my shaft…caressing my

balls, rubbing them gently in his warm, cupped palm.

Without a word, I pulled him from me and laid down on my stomach.

That was the way I liked it best. On my stomach, feeling his weight on

me. Listening to the soft, hard, grunting sounds he made as he pushed

himself in and out of me, building toward his finish.

He spread my butt cheeks and put some of his spit on my hole. I tingled

when he touched me there. I liked his warmth and his wetness. I liked

knowing what was coming next.

He coated his dick with more spit and slowly laid down on me.

I felt the pressure of his penis as he lined it up with my hole and the

sharp, stabbing entry as he pushed himself in. It scared me the first few

times…but now I was used to it. I knew the painful part didn’t last

very long.

“Is it okay?” he whispered, his voice shaky and soft.

“Fine,” I smiled. “Go slow.”

He started moving, barely pressing at all, then I felt him push it all the

way in. He stayed really still for a minute, letting me adjust to the

pressure. He was always very gentle and he never went too fast. He

always made sure I was feeling okay before he started going again.

Hearing my breathing relax, he started pumping in and out, doing it to me.

God, it felt so good.

I loved the feeling so much. I lay there on my stomach, my head turned

sideways and breathed in rhythm to his slow, steady pushes. I tried to

match his breathing. It made me feel like I was part of him.

And as his hard dick slid in and out of me, I felt filled with so much

wonderful pressure — not at all bad — just good, full, constant

movement. I moaned, and pushed my butt back to meet his slow pumping. He

liked that a lot, when I pushed back against him, trying to get more.

“It’s not going to take me long,” he whispered, almost apologizing.

“That’s okay,” I smiled, enjoying the feeling. “You can go hard now. It

doesn’t hurt.”

He picked up his pace almost immediately. He laid down across my back,

putting his full weight on me, which I loved more than anything. I felt

so completely secure and surrounded when I was under him like that. I

wished I could lay like that all night.

He kissed the back of my neck, giving me shivers.

His hips continued to pump in and out of me — faster — harder — jabbing

urgently, filling me with so many good feelings….a burning, a

wildness…things I can’t describe.

I could see colors in my head as he rammed himself in and out of me.

Blues and greens and sparkly yellows. It was so nice and strong. So

natural. So full and amazing and good.

“Now,” I urged him. “Do it now.”

He thrust in forcefully — there was no pain at all — and I gasped in

full, complete surrender as he buried himself as far as he could and

tensed his whole body — his few drops of sweet cum jerking into my ass,

filling me with warmth and pleasure.

“Wow…” he gasped, slowing down, adding a few more hesitant, sensitive

strokes. “That was so nice. You’re so warm in there. It’s like this

incredible heat, all around me.”

“Mmmmm,” I smiled, closing my eyes, letting him lay there on my back,

resting.

In a few moments, he pulled himself out of me. I felt the familiar

emptiness and ache as he laid down by my side. The worst part was when it

was over.

But then I leaned over and put my head on his chest, draping one arm over

him and listening to his heart, still beating rapidly under my ear.

“I love you, Kane,” he whispered gently.

“I love you too, Jory,” I answered, already sleeping.

The purple night turned into sweet, slumbering silence. Nothing but our

breathing filled the air for miles around. We laid there sweetly, holding

each other.

Two explorers. A remarkable find.

And a new morning ahead of us…made out of love and adventure and

12-year-old dreams.

____________________________________________

END

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